


And When I Look At You

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, S3 spoilers, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Actually going to die a virgin,” Stiles is muttering and Derek tries, fiercely hard, not to think about that one too much. Stiles is too alluring as he is with his ridiculous mouth, and his stupid wide, warm eyes that always look at Derek like he’s trying to figure him out. That sometimes even make Derek think he can do something, he can fix something, he can be more. Derek… Derek can’t go there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And When I Look At You

“God, you are a serious pain in my ass you know that, Hale?”

Derek groans, opens his eyes and tries to blearily glare at Stiles. Stiles who is currently heaving him over a fallen tree and muttering about how much he hates Derek.

“The feeling is mutual,” he manages to mumble out.

Stiles lets go of his shoulders and Derek thuds to the floor. “I could just leave you here,” Stiles ponders. “Let the alphas catch up.”

Derek spits blood. “Fine, do it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabs hold of his arms again. “For fuck’s sake, stop looking so wounded. I’ve saved your life enough times for you to know how this goes.”

“Just hurry up,” Derek snaps. “And stop complaining, Jesus they’ll hear you in  _town_.”

“Hate, hate, hate,” Stiles mutters as he drags Derek over the dead leaves.

Scott finds them a few minutes later looking disheveled, but not badly hurt. “They’re gone for now.”

Derek nods wearily, glances up at him from where he’s leaning against the Jeep, legs still slashed up and bleeding profusely. Stiles is refusing to look at them. “Isaac and Boyd?”

“They’re fine,” Scott says shortly.

“Super,” Stiles scoffs. “Well,” he claps his hands together, glares at Derek. “This has been fun and all, but I actually have a History test I’m supposed to be studying for so, awesome reunion but goodbye?”

Scott elbows him and helps Derek to his feet. “Do you need a ride?”

“He’s not getting in the Jeep like that, dude. He’ll get—”

Both Scott and Derek turn to look at him and Stiles sighs exasperatedly. “Fine, god, it’s not like you have your own car you could bleed all over.”

“Yeah, but bleeding all over yours is so much more rewarding,” Derek snaps.

“Whatever, just get in and be quick about it.”

Derek snaps his door shut harder than necessary; enjoys the way Stiles glares at him. Nobody said anything about him being a well adjusted, grown up person. In fact, Scott reminds him almost daily how much of a failure he is. He might as well get some joy from it.

*

“What now?” Stiles is rubbing his face sleepily with one hand, scratching his stomach with the other and Derek averts his eyes. He focuses on glaring holes into the side of Stiles’ face.

“I need some information.”

“Yes, you look like you’re about to break into a Jets versus Sharks dance off in that jacket, I like whole milk, not semi skimmed, and there is a library four blocks from here.” Stiles gives him a shit eating grin. “ _Information_.”

Derek bares his teeth. “Funny,” before he shoves past Stiles and into the house.

“Sure, sure, let yourself in,” Stiles grumbles. “Hey! You wanna take your shoes off? Last time you trekked mud everywhere.”

He thinks about arguing but his eye catches on one of the photographs on the wall of the Sheriff and Mrs Stilinski. He remembers her. He remembers long swishy brown hair that used to fascinate him in the grocery store, and the rowdy toddler dancing round her legs making Derek nervous, on edge. He remembers her laughing and trying to make Stiles behave himself.  He looks down at his feet and slowly kicks off his shoes. He won’t say so but he gets why there’s a rule.

He hesitates when he sees Stiles staring at his feet. “What?”

“You—your sock has a hole in it,” Stiles says finally, heading up the stairs without looking back.

Derek frowns down at his socks; he doesn’t remember even buying them but Stiles is right, the left one has a hole in the toe.

“Do you know anything about darning?”

Stiles sits at the computer, occasionally correcting Derek’s needlepoint, and flicking through research. Derek notices it’s dark at some point, stands and flicks on Stiles’ desk lamp.

“Huh, oh, thanks,” Stiles sighs, sitting back and rubbing his eyes. “I don’t have anything new to tell you, dude. They’re here, they’re mean, and they want you—probably because you’re just as mean.”

Derek scowls at him, puts the thread and needle on the laptop. “Thank you for your enlightening input.”

“Bite me,” Stiles snaps as he stretches, tee riding up as he yawns.

“Not even if you begged,” Derek retorts crossly before heading out the door.

“Didn’t have to beg Peter,” Stiles grumbles and Derek stills on the landing, pushes back the door sharply.

“ _What_.”

Stiles tips his head back over the desk chair, grins widely at him. “What, you didn’t know?”

“Stiles,” Derek barks. “What are you talking about?”

“Your Uncle’s a dick,” Stiles sighs, leaning back to start typing again. “Like that’s news.”

“He tried to give you the bite.”

“No, he  _offered_. And I said no; because sad and unpopular as I may be, I’m not actually desperate to become an extra from Grease.”

Derek doesn’t know why he’s so bothered, reasons in his head that it’s yet another thing Peter has done behind his back. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “ _Tell me_  if he does anything like that again.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Stiles salutes him.

“ _Stiles_.”

“What? Derek, for god’s sake, it was months ago. I wouldn’t go near the guy with a ten foot barge pole, although, ironically I used to say that about you, so…” Stiles shrugs. “Maybe—”

“Stay away from him,” Derek says sharply.

“Or, what?”

Derek leans forward, hands falling to each side of the desk chair as Stiles arches away from him, pupils dilating interestingly. “It wasn’t a threat,” he says quietly, relishing the way Stiles’ heartbeat ratchets up, his tongue slipping out to lick his bottom lip. “It was a suggestion for your own safety.”

“Look at you,” Stiles says shakily. “All warm and caring about my wellbeing.”

Derek swallows, realizes where he is and what he’s doing and how much he  _does_  give a shit if this kid dies on his watch. He straightens up, shuts down and glares at Stiles. “Your father deserves to come home to someone.”

Stiles jolts backwards like Derek’s slapped him and stands. “Get out,  _asshole_.”

“It’s a fair point.”

“I don’t care what you think’s  _fair_ , Derek. Leave my dad out of this.”

“Fine,” Derek shrugs, leaves before he can do anything else reckless and stupid. He doesn’t know why Stiles brings it out in him. The kid gets under his fucking skin.

He shoves his shoes on angrily, looks up at the photos on the wall and feels suddenly chastened. He wants to say _I’m trying_ , but he doesn’t think anyone would believe him; he doesn’t know if he believes it himself.

*

“Why is this our thing?” Stiles moans, teeth chattering and hugging his own arms as Derek paces behind him. “Other people get  _nice_  traditions; trips, cool catch phrases, but no, you and me get stuck together in life threatening situations.”

“Shut up,” Derek hisses. “And let me think.”

“Derek, you are  _not_  the brains of this operation.”

Derek shoots him a furious look from across the cave, resents that Stiles’ heart rate barely flutters. Stiles should be terrified of him; there should be no _getting used to him_ , or dismissing him. He’s dangerous, a fucking liability.

“Actually going to die a virgin,” Stiles is muttering and Derek tries, fiercely hard, not to think about that one too much. Stiles is too fucking alluring as he is with his ridiculous mouth, and his stupid wide, warm eyes that always look at Derek like he’s trying to figure him out. That sometimes even make Derek think he  _can_  do something, he _can_  fix something, he can be more. Derek… Derek can’t go there.

“Just, give me a minute,” he says finally. “And lots of people die virgins; it won’t be like you’re special.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He picks at dry rock, scratching with his nail as bigger pieces fall away at the top of the cave. He’s finally getting somewhere when Stiles grabs his wrist. “Wait!”

Derek snarls. “Am I not doing this to your liking, your highness?”

“ _Dick_ , no, if you keep that up you’ll bring the whole cave down on us. They didn’t chase us in here by accident; those alphas are smart, man. They knew there was no way out.”

“Fuck,” Derek exhales sharply. He notices Stiles’ fingers are still wrapped round his wrist like a brand and pulls his arm away. “Any suggestions?”

“We wait for Scott,” Stiles says quietly, sitting down against the cave wall. “Or we die, I guess.”

“Your optimism is thrilling.”

“I’m not the optimist, dude; Scott is. Scott’s the one who wants to save everyone and make sunshine and rainbows pour out of Beacon Hills. Isn’t that why you still keep him around?”

Derek blinks in surprise, Stiles’ eyes sharp on him when he glances over. “What?”

“He’s the Yin to your Yang, the light to your dark, I don’t know. He lied to you,  _used_  you, and you still wanted to work with him—there’s a reason for it, right?”

“Why—he’s  _your_  best friend,” Derek says finally.

“Doesn’t mean I forget things,” Stiles says softly, pointing at his face. “Or people.”

“Gerard,” Derek says faintly.

“Humans are just as capable of being monsters.”

“ _Anyone_  is capable.”

“Wow, so, the mood just dropped about thirty feet,” Stiles says as he shivers.

Derek’s aware of Stiles’ heart rate beginning to slow, ever so minimally, and he shifts so that he’s sitting pressed up against him, knee to shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re cold.”

“So, you’re offering me your condolences?”

“Would you rather get naked and snuggle?”

Stiles chokes and snorts out a laugh. “Oh, man I  _must_  be dying if you’re saying the word snuggle. I would have bet money on it never coming up in conversation between us,  _ever_.”

Derek rolls his eyes, slips off his jacket and slings it round Stiles’ shoulders. When he next looks at Stiles there’s a strange look in his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says before crooking a lopsided grin at Derek. “You’re just a fucking enigma aren’t you, Derek Hale?”

“I try,” he grunts.

Stiles laughs, somewhat hysterically, and Derek hopes Scott won’t be too much longer because fuck if that’s going to be the only time he ever hears Stiles laugh.

*

Isaac and Boyd are fooling around in the loft when he gets home late one Thursday evening. He’s come from a heated discussion in Deaton’s office and he feels bone weary. He stills at the door as he realizes that this is, in fact, his  _home_. It doesn’t entirely look like one. There’s a ratty couch, a broken table and the chest he’s kept from his old room. It smells of decay and ash but, he won’t throw it away. He can still remember where the painted on yellow stars were, he doesn’t need to see them to trace their outlines.

“We’re going shopping,” he announces.

“Losers,” Isaac adds gleefully and Boyd hits him round the head.

Derek wrinkles up his nose. “What?”

Isaac sighs, looks at him with a pained expression. “When was the last time you saw a movie?”

“I haven’t really had time what with all the running around and trying to  _live_  stuff I’ve been doing.”

Isaac smirks. “You need to dust up your pop culture references.”

“It’s not high on my to-do list,” Derek waves an impatient hand at them. “Buying you an actual  _bed_ , on the other hand…”

Isaac leaps off the couch he’s been sleeping on and bounds to the door. “Can I get one of those mattresses that mold you? Those seem cool.”

“They don’t mold  _you_ , idiot,” Boyd scoffs. “They mold the way you sleep.”

“I got that, thanks,” Isaac snarks at Boyd and they shove at each other, tumbling down the stairs. Derek has no idea how they’ve all managed to stay alive this long. Refuses to think on the third person that would be making an endless list of things she would want for the living room, color co-ordinated of course.

He  _hopes_. If there is one thing he is still hopeful for; it is for Erica. For her to be happy, wherever she ran to when she and Boyd were sent with messages from the alphas. Only Boyd came home to relay his, Erica went East.

Derek hopes.

Isaac sits in the trolley and demands Derek push him around the huge IKEA store. Boyd starts reading through the instructions on the checklists. Derek tries to pretend he isn’t with the idiot seventeen year old currently swinging his legs over the side and directing Derek excitedly.

“We should—” Isaac pauses, sniffs the air. “Scott’s here.”

Derek turns to frown at him. “You know Scott’s scent already?”

Isaac shrugs. “We hang out a lot at school now, and he’s good with you know, helping me learn stuff.”

It’s sort of like taking a sledge hammer to the solar plexus. It doesn’t hurt as much as the actual pipe he took through the chest a month ago but,  _still_.

“I can help you with that,” he says gruffly.

“I know,” Isaac rolls his eyes, clambers out of the trolley. “But, Scott goes to school.”

Sure, simple, logical, he really has no idea why he’s feeling weirdly  _jealous_.

“You help me, Derek,” Boyd simpers at him as Isaac disappears from view.

Derek cuffs him on the back of the head and pushes the trolley on. “Asshole.”

“Your  _face_ , man.”

“It wasn’t doing anything.”

“Sort of like a kicked puppy.”

“Shut up.”

Scott’s clutching a lamp when Isaac brings him over to say hello, or shove his stupid face in Derek’s face.

He’s  _not_  bitter.

Derek nods at the lamp. “Present?”

“Nah, broke the last one, couldn’t fix it.”

“Huh,” Derek glances casually around. “Where’s Stiles?”

“On a date,” Scott shrugs. “Some guy he met at a cross country meet.”

Boyd tells him later Derek’s face looked similar to that of someone swallowing a lemon. Derek tells him to shut up, again.

He’s just concerned Stiles’ dating habits will somehow land Derek in trouble. It’s their  _thing_  after all.

*

Her name is irrelevant, but she was pretty, sharp, she had nice eyes. Derek’s always been a sucker for nice eyes. Isaac tended to fade out of the apartment when she came over. Boyd doesn’t really talk in the first place, didn’t bother making an effort for someone new.

She fucked Derek over, and he’s done with any attempts of his own to date again.  

He should have known better. He didn’t.

*

For all their threats, the alpha pack as a whole are fairly easy to break. The twins are looking for entertainment and once they’re bored of Beacon Hills they’re easy enough to get out of town. Kali was looking for power and Scott kills her to protect the innocent people she would have used to gain it. Ennis is a brute, easy to play, easy to destroy once Derek’s own pack and Scott’s work together. Though, there is much bitching from Stiles about him in general. And about Derek, obviously. Derek tunes it out.

The last of the alphas, Deucalion, is much more difficult to take down. As proven by the fact Derek and Stiles are currently crashing through an abandoned warehouse and Stiles is falling behind.

“Come on,” Derek yells. “Fucking keep up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t have magic werewolf legs,” Stiles snaps back and before he can say anything else, Derek sweeps him up over his shoulder and jumps out the window into the river below.

Stiles comes up for air, red faced and furious. Derek puts a hand over his mouth, pulls him tight against the river bank and looks to the window above. Deucalion is a silhouette against the broken glass; eyes obviously searching for them and Stiles shrinks back into Derek. The water should cover their heartbeats and their scents, and Derek shuts his eyes to prevent any unwanted reflections.

He waits until he can hear Deucalion move on and then Stiles is biting at his hand.

“Fuck,  _ow_.”

“I’m not into bondage,” Stiles mutters, swimming across the river and towards the stony embankment on the other side.

“Liar,” Derek mutters.

The back of Stiles’ neck goes pink. “Fuck off.”

“I just saved your god damn life; a little gratitude would be nice.”

“You threw me through a  _window_ , and I nearly drowned, A plus job, dude.”

Derek feels his temper rising. “What d’you want from me, Stiles? It was all I could think of to get him off our backs! I could have left you behind to think about your options if you’d preferred.”

Stiles strips off his wet shirt, wrings it out angrily and Derek feels his gaze drawn to his chest. There’s a red flush across his shoulders from the fall, scratches from the glass and, Jesus the kid’s more toned than Derek realized. He looks away determinedly.

“One, I wouldn’t have even been in this district if it weren’t for you, two—”

“Fine, I get it,” he cuts in, unwilling to hear any more about all of his goddamn mistakes. “I’m a huge fuck up and you wish I were dead.”

Stiles blinks in shock, eyes going wide. “Derek… that’s not—” he sighs, throws his shirt back on. “It was a good idea,” he says finally.

“Don’t hurt yourself too much giving praise,” Derek says drily.

Stiles pulls a face at him. “I need… so much sugar, right now.”

Derek jerks his head in the direction of town. “Best start walking.”

“Any chance you could give me a ride?” Stiles gestures at his shoulders and Derek shakes his head, almost smiling unwillingly.

“Not a chance, that was once in a lifetime.”

“You’re the worst,” Stiles sighs, though, the heat from earlier is gone from his voice. Derek takes it as something.

*

“If we’re in my car, we listen to my music, I told you this last time.”

Derek hits his head on the window pane repeatedly. “Please, this is just  _noise_.”

“Hey, Screaming Trees are classic, man.”

“With a name like that why wouldn’t they be.”

“Just because they’re not singing about how much they hate the world, and how their souls aren’t black as the night, doesn’t mean they’re not good music, Derek,” Stiles sing songs.

“What the hell kind of music do you think I listen to?”

“I don’t think about you at all,” Stiles says loftily.

Derek raises an eyebrow at the lie, watches the way a flush creeps up Stiles’ neck.

“Huh.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says crossly, turning into the drive thru. Derek sits back feeling pleasantly warmed all of a sudden as Stiles orders, pretending he’s not blushing the entire time.

Stiles drives with a little more force than necessary as they head over to where they think Deucalion’s hiding out. Derek eats his fries smirking.

“I think about you in an  _oh god is he going to be lurking in my room when I get home_  kind of way, ok?” Stiles blurts out once they’re parked.

Derek shrugs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Derek enjoys the sight tremendously.

“I hate you,” Stiles mumbles, turning to peer out the window.

Derek is surprisingly ok with that lie.

Stiles flicks back on the music and he likes this one, it’s less angsty and much more languid, smooth, it sounds like the kind of song you want to have sex to. It makes Derek itch to change it again, particularly because Stiles is sprawled low in the driver’s seat, legs strewn out and long expanse of neck on show as he tips his head back to look through the window. He turns to glance at Derek and does a double take.

“What?”

Derek shakes his head, focuses on what he’s supposed to be looking for. “Nothing.” He can feel Stiles’ eyes still and he drops his gaze to look at him again. Derek counts heartbeats as they stare at one another, loses himself in Stiles for just a minute before looking back out the window.

*

“Oh, Derek,” Deucalion leans over him. Derek snarls, drags himself backwards over broken glass. “I had no idea it would be this easy to beat you.”

In the background Isaac’s hacking up blood and Derek knows he can’t let them go out like this. Shakily, he stands. “I’m not going anywhere,” he growls before roaring in Deucalion’s face.

Deucalion looks delighted, leaps backwards and beckons Derek towards him. “Show me, how much you want to live.”

“God, I’ve heard better one liners in movies that go straight to the three dollar basket,” Stiles drawls from the doorway.

Both Derek and Deucalion swivel to look at him and that’s when Scott leaps from the roof and tackles Deucalion to the floor. Boyd reappears from where Deucalion had thrown him earlier, joins in the foray and it’s chaos before just as suddenly, it’s over.

Derek kneels over Deucalion and slashes his throat feeling nothing but relief. When he looks up, there’s three pairs of big eyes looking back at him.

“Are you the alpha now?” Stiles whispers.

Derek scowls at him as Allison nudges him in the side. Stiles grins and then flinches when his bloodied lip cracks. “Ouch, damn.”

Scott helps Isaac to a stand, looks over at Derek. “He’s the last, right?”

“Here’s hoping,” Derek says with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t have a list, Scott.”

“Woah, ok, let’s have one night where we—”

“You didn’t tell us about this pack coming to town,” Scott interrupts Stiles and Stiles sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters never mind.

“I didn’t know what they wanted back then!”

“That’s a lie,” Scott says exhaustedly. “How is this supposed to work, Derek? We’re supposed to  _trust_  each other.”

“Trust is earned,” Derek spits out.

“It has been,” Scott spreads his arms.

“Ok,  _Derek_ ,” Stiles points at him. “Say thank you,  _Scott_ , say you’re welcome. Then maybe you guys should hug? I don’t know how alphas who aren’t going to kill each other are supposed to act around one another, but, I’m hoping you guys don’t want to kill each other because honestly, I’m getting really tired of this shit.” He takes a breath and puts his hands on his hips, glares them both down.

“Fine,” Derek says finally. “ _Thank you_.”

A smile blooms on Stiles’ face and he looks so pleased Derek doesn’t know whether to ruffle his hair or—

“You’re welcome,” Scott says stiltedly.

“Great,” Stiles says, rocking on the balls of his feet as he beams at Derek. “See you around, big guy.”

Derek raises his eyebrows but nods, watches Stiles leave.

Scott gives him a twitch of a smile before catching Allison’s hand and following Stiles. Derek has never wanted to follow Scott more.

*

“Are you  _seriously_ , out of your mind?”

Stiles hisses as he touches the cut on his forehead and then glares at Derek. “I didn’t know she was an Omega, dude.”

“She couldn’t have been more obvious.”

“She was hot, and she was into me, I didn’t stop to ask hey, are you a werewolf?”

Derek wants to upend the damn table. Instead, he shoves a bag of peas at Stiles and glowers until Stiles puts them on his head. “You have peas,” Stiles says in surprise.

“Yes, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me that would undoubtedly make you stare and want to prod me and go oooh  _alien werewolf, how fascinating_. Isn’t he  _special_  buying groceries for himself.”

“Hey, dude, don’t be like that—I’m not like, mocking you. For once. I was just… never mind, Jesus. I don’t get you _at all_. One minute you’re actually a decent human being, the next you’re ripping me a new one for going on a date—”

“She practically tore your head off, Stiles.”

“ _Scott_  didn’t yell at me this much.”

“Maybe he’s gotten used to your particular brand of stupidity and given up.”

“ _Fuck. You_ ,” Stiles cries incredulously, standing and tossing the peas at Derek. Derek catches them, throws them on the counter, and stalks after Stiles who’s storming through the loft.

“Why are you even pissed, Derek?” Stiles demands angrily as he pulls on his hoodie. “It’s not like  _your_  life was in imminent danger.”

Derek wants to put his hand through the wall next to him. He fixes Stiles with a long look. “You’re reckless, and you never think about your own safety—”

“ _I’m_  reckless? Coming from the guy who spends all his time vaulting into dangerous situations?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“ _Yes_ , it is! You’re totally overreacting about this. If I’d been hurt and not on a date would you be this pissed? Or, is this just about me having a life outside of fucking werewolves?”

“You’re allowed to have a life, Stiles. I’m not stopping you.”

“You kind of are, when you think about it, real hard, Derek,” Stiles gives him a significant look before heading for the door.

Derek’s in front of him in a second, kicking the door shut and twisting until Stiles is against the wood. “You’re so fucking  _aggravating_.”

“Right back at you, you ridiculous moronic—” Derek has no interest in hearing the end of Stiles’ tirade when he could just as easily slam their mouths together.

Stiles makes an aggrieved noise and then twists his hands in Derek’s shirt, yanking him in forcefully as he bites at Derek’s bottom lip.

“Idiot,” he finishes breathlessly.

Derek drops his hands from above Stiles’ head and pushes at Stiles’ hoodie to get his hands on Stiles’ bare skin, gripping his hips tightly as he licks into Stiles’ mouth. It’s fierce, and hot and  _angry_  as they kiss. They’re both gasping for breath and Derek can feel Stiles hard against his hip. He shoves a thigh between Stiles’ legs, grinds upwards and Stiles groans, pushes his fingers through Derek’s hair. He tugs at it, tips Derek’s neck back and bites at his chin, his neck, sucks against the skin there and Derek can’t think. He can’t feel anything but the way Stiles is winding around him, caught under his skin, in his bones, infuriating and exasperating, maddening even. And everything that makes Derek want to fight, want to push back, want to live. He never feels like he’s beaten with Stiles. He feels like he can stand up again. That there’s someone who thinks he can, too.

“God, fuck,” Stiles gasps, and Derek shoves away his hoodie, pulls at the collar of his tee to kiss his shoulder, mouth at the skin. “Oh my god,  _Derek_.”

Derek thinks he makes a noise of agreement, laves at Stiles’ pulse point before biting down. Stiles shudders against him, slides his hands up Derek’s back, digging his nails in briefly and then holding on as they kiss until Derek feels dizzy with it. It’s not furious kissing, now, it’s still a little desperate, still a little frantic as if they’re catching up with something, trying to learn everything in one go. And Derek  _wants_ , Derek fucking wants to know everything. He wants to know what makes Stiles tick in every way.

He pulls back eventually, eyes on Stiles’ mouth until he tears them up to look him in the eye. Stiles stares back at him, eyes burning and Derek feels like he’s drowning, torn open as Stiles looks his fill. Stiles touches his fingers to Derek’s mouth, his own curved up in a smile and Derek leans forward and kisses him again, because he can. Stiles kisses him back, hands fluttering round Derek’s face carefully, like suddenly he’s afraid Derek will break. Derek finds he’s not afraid of that with Stiles; feels exactly the opposite in fact.

“That,” Stiles says as they break apart again, licks his lips, and Derek rocks into him without thought. “That was unexpected.”

“You really haven’t been paying attention,” Derek says hoarsely.

Stiles laughs, and  _yes_ , Derek is glad he’s alive to hear it. 


End file.
